Believe Your Own Eyes - The Desert Doesn’t Lie

I’ve heard a lot of people say that their photograph of a beautiful scene “doesn’t do the scene justice.” That’s often true, especially when you’re trying to wrap your brain - and your camera - around something completely outside your normal life experience. I remember my first trip into southern Utah vividly. I couldn’t believe my own eyes, and a good number of photographs I made (on film) didn’t quite capture what I saw.

But this story is about the exact opposite problem.

This is the rare occasion when I found myself saying, “Honestly, I’m not kidding - this is exactly what it looked like.” Let me explain.

This happened about twenty years ago, when digital photography was still finding its footing, and I was using one of my first digital cameras: a Canon point-and-shoot. It wasn’t fancy, but it was the only digital camera I could afford at the time if I wanted a taste of the future. I’ve always believed that if you work within your equipment’s limitations, you can photograph just about anything. The fact that this little camera had manual exposure compensation and a choice of aperture or shutter priority made me a very happy guy.

Around that time, I was standing near the office water cooler talking photography with a coworker. Her husband was a photographer who had been shooting southern Utah far longer than I had. We were talking about digital photography and its greatest early temptation: oversaturation. Especially in red rock country.

Novice photographers - sometimes not so novice photographers - would crank the saturation slider to eleven trying to rescue an otherwise dull image. The problem is that the magic light of southern Utah usually shows up briefly at sunrise or sunset, and often after a lot of planning. When the light fizzles at the last minute, disappointment sets in, followed by some enthusiastic but ill-advised color adjustments. The result? Nuclear red rocks, lime-green foliage, and an image that looks like it was photographed on Mars during a chemical spill.

The irony is that the beauty of red rock country isn’t always in blazing reds. Often it’s found in the subtle earth tones and pastel hues that look more like an artist’s palette than a fireworks show.

Fast-forward to later that week. Rhonda and I were in Arches National Park at sunset. One of the perks of working an 8-to-5 job in Moab was that it left plenty of daylight for after-work hiking, especially in summer. On this particular evening, storm clouds were moving in - which is basically a landscape photographer’s bat signal.

As we entered the park, the storm intensified. Rain showers became more frequent as we drove deeper into Arches, and we started wondering whether photography was even going to be possible. Early digital cameras were many things, but weather-sealed was not one of them. Still, we pressed on.

As the storm progressed, the lighting started getting interesting.

By the time we reached the Windows section of the park, the rain had eased and sunset was approaching. The colors began to build, and I started shooting. Over the next few minutes, the light shifted from soft storm light to increasingly intense reds and oranges. Every time I thought we’d reached peak color, it somehow got stronger.

Then it crossed into territory I had never seen before - or since.

The landscape didn’t just glow; it radiated. The saturation was off the charts. It felt like a dream. Or possibly an acid trip - although I can’t personally confirm that comparison.

When I got home and reviewed the images, I just stared at the screen. The photos were wildly saturated and seemed to contradict everything I’d just preached at the water cooler earlier that week. The reds didn’t look real… except for one inconvenient detail: they were.

Because the light show was fleeting and probably very localized, there was a good chance that most people in Moab never saw it. If I showed these images on my work computer, it would look like I’d gone completely off the photographic deep end. So I brought my camera to work instead. Back then, you couldn’t manipulate images while they were still in the camera - what you saw was what the camera captured.

That seemed to do the trick. I think they believed me. Or maybe they just humored me. I’ll probably never know.

But I do know this: sometimes the desert puts on a show so outrageous that even your camera may get accused of lying. And in moments like that, it’s always best to believe your own eyes.